Boy, Detective
by Hane no Zaia
Summary: AU. Unlike his parents, Conan waits with bated breath for the day when Shinichi's cockiness will come back to haunt him ‒ or in a worst case scenario, to haunt Conan, because that's how things usually turn out.
1. Chapter 1

_**This is something I found gathering dust on my hard drive. If you've got any interest in seeing it continued, then express it. If you have suggestions or wishes for what happens next, then send them. I haven't really decided yet on what happens next, so I'm still open for suggestions.**_

.-.-.-.

Contrary to popular belief, high-school detective Kudō Shinichi isn't an only child. However, it isn't as though he had been hiding it, at least not initially. Everyone had just naturally assumed it, and for various reasons, Shinichi had neglected and has continued neglecting to correct them on this assumption. That said, he had intended on telling Mōri Ran on a number of occasions, but had ended up putting it off again and again. At this point, it would be really awkward to confess to having a younger brother, roughly seven years after the fact.

Still, considering how he is planning on maybe confessing to Ran, either at Tropical Land or at some later occasion, Shinichi knows that the issue of his yet to be introduced younger brother will have to be breached eventually. It would after all be better for him to break the news to her than risk having her meet his younger clone without a proper introduction. Then again, calling him a clone is a bit‒ "Say, Ran‒"

"Let's ride that one next," Ran interrupts, pointing to the rollercoaster. Then she grabs him by the arm, physically tugging him towards it.

Shinichi allows himself to be tugged along; the issue can wait for a while yet.

But then there is a murder case, distracting him, and then the men dressed in black, distracting him further. Caught up in the moment, Shinichi parts with Ran and hides, becoming the unwitting witness to a shady business deal turned murder. He becomes so absorbed in the task that he fails to notice the other shady man sneaking up on him before it is already too late.

The blow to his head is heavy. What follows is an incoherent mixture of flashes, of heat and of absolute agony; something about a drug, a poison forced down his throat, and then‒It all ends.

"Ran," he thinks, and then: "Conan."

.-.-.-.

From the very start, the Kudō couple had known that their two sons were perfectly extraordinary, although the younger perhaps even more so than the firstborn. Age difference aside, the brothers had fairly similar interests: mysteries and detective stories. However, whilst Shinichi had moved on to become the Heisei Holmes, the Saviour of the Police Force, Conan had gone down a similar yet strangely divergent path: solving various mysteries far away from any limelight, occasionally with some quite unusual assistance along the way.

"What are you doing?"

Conan doesn't look up from his gameboy; he doesn't even move as the frowning semi-transparent figure leans over him to take a closer look.

"Hey, kid‒"

Conan shoots the spectre a definite look and then goes back to his game; he would rather have done something else, but he would also rather not draw any unnecessary attention to himself. Besides, playing games does provide him with the type of distraction that does not in any way involve engaging the numerous spectres shuffling about in the reception hall. Granted, Conan is still waiting for his luggage to turn up, but it is still past time; Shinichi was supposed to have turned up half an hour ago. Not that Conan is surprised or anything; he knows his brother far too well for that.

With a sigh, he puts his gameboy away, pulling out his worn pocket edition of _A Study in Scarlet_ instead.

Most parents would have shied away from the thought of putting a six-year-old boy on a flight from Los Angeles to Narita International Airport, Japan. Some would have viewed it an admittedly irresponsible move. However, fact remains that Conan has a good head on his shoulders. Besides, aircraft personnel had been specifically tasked with making sure that he wouldn't get lost along the way. Even now, one of those watchers is keeping an eye on him, trying to act subtle in a way that makes their presence glaringly apparent to him.

Absentmindedly, Conan wonders whether or not they would step out and help him with his bags when the time comes. After all, whether in possession of a good head or not, with a child's body, he can only do so much.

Both of his parents like to joke about Conan being the most mature one in the family.

Shinichi meanwhile is good at what he does, yes, but he is too flashy. And unlike his parents, Conan waits with bated breath for the day when Shinichi's cockiness will eventually come back to haunt him ‒ or in a worst case scenario, come back to haunt Conan, because that's how things usually turn out.

So, when Conan has finally managed to ditch the ghost and slides into the passenger seat of Professor Agasa's yellow beetle, he cannot help but wonder. Then, as the old man slides back into the driver's seat after putting away the luggage, Conan finally asks the inevitable question: "Is it another case?"

He doesn't ask _Did he forget?_ or _Was there something more important?_. Despite the time they have spent apart, Conan knows his older brother; focused but easily distracted. All things considered, perhaps it runs in the family.

The professor shrugs mildly. "He wasn't home, so I guess he‒"

Conan doesn't bother with the rest, pulling out his gameboy once more.

The ride is mostly quiet after that, despite the professor's occasional attempt at starting up a conversation. The professor keeps talking about some games, other inventions of his and whatnot, clearly indicating that Conan ought to take some part in testing them.

Conan honestly wouldn't mind that, because it would surely be more enjoyable than starting grade school and socialising with people his own age. The latter is obviously some ploy of his mother to pull Conan out of his self-imposed reclusion. Going by what Shinichi and others had told him about grade school, it definitely won't be fun. But no, mother and father had insisted that Conan should go live with Shinichi and attend school in Beika as opposed to getting homeschooled, the method of schooling Conan would have privately preferred. Of course, going against Kudō Yukiko on something like this would have been a frustrating and ultimately fruitless endeavour, which is why Conan had eventually accepted his fate, at least for now.

" _Conan."_

A sudden chill runs down his spine and Conan sucks in a startled breath.

The professor sends him a slightly concerned look whilst slowing the car outside the Kudō residence. The old man peers up at the building with more obvious concern. "Looks like Shinichi isn't back yet."

Conan knows then, steeling himself as he undoes the seatbelt and gets out of the car, taking one of the bags from Professor Agasa before following him towards his house instead.

In the morning, Conan expects to see his brother's semi-transparent figure at his bedside, looking at him with a fond yet decidedly pained expression. Similarly, he expects to ask the other if the police had found his body yet or if Conan ought to help by pointing them in the right direction.

Instead, there is Professor Agasa, wearing a decidedly sombre expression that makes him look so much older than usual. "It's about Shinichi."

It is always about Shinichi, but Conan isn't particularly fond of the limelight, so it's all right. Still‒

Conan sits himself up, reaches for the glasses that he doesn't really need and puts them on. "So?"

.-.-.-.


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you very much for your input! I'm still working out the general outline though, so here's something to read in the meantime ^ ^_

.-.-.-.

In many aspects, the dead are very much like the living. To be a tad more specific, they are very much like the living… in various stages of dealing with crisis. It would suffice to say that some took to the news of their own passing far better than others, who were either in a fierce state of denial or entirely too distressed to process any new info. 'Traumatised' would have been another way of putting it, because if you weren't traumatised beforehand, then dying suddenly and unexpectedly usually did the trick. All things considered though, Conan was the one who ought to feel traumatised, having had to deal with so many of them in their least dignified moments.

Of course, there are exceptions; there are always exceptions and some of them are almost annoyingly dignified despite having been murdered just recently, or not so recently. Thankfully, Conan's first close encounter had been with someone like that. Otherwise, he would likely never have considered trying to help them.

"Conan honey, what are you doing up so late?"

He stands in the doorway of the master suite, waiting. His mother is tired; even if she hadn't been rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, he would have been able to tell by the sound of her voice. He feels a bit bad about it then, waking them up at such an ungodly hour and all, but‒ "There's a man in my room."

His mother blinks at him, taking a moment to process his statement before settling back down. "Honey, he's just a figment of your imagination; a dream," she says, her voice somewhere in-between admonishing and soothing. "Go back to sleep."

Yeah, Conan has every intention of doing the latter, because he is tired. Before that however‒ "He asked me to deliver a message."

His mother looks a bit alarmed now. Before she can say anything though, Conan's father speaks up. "Message?"

Conan sneaks a glance to the side, towards the man. The man notices and smiles; he looks kind, kind but also mischievous, and undeniably familiar somehow. Even without looking, Conan can tell that his parents are both watching; he can feel it. Unwilling to delay things any longer, he takes a deep breath and steels himself for whatever may become of it. The spectre crouches down beside him, leaning in for a conspiratorial whisper. The sheer proximity has Conan shudder visibly, but he delivers the message nonetheless. "He says… that it's been a while, and that he's sorry for not being able to finish the game."

" _Game?"_ Kudō Yukiko looks scandalised.

Kudō Yūsaku meanwhile looks intrigued. "Did he leave his name?" he asks, earning a disbelieving look from his wife.

" _Yūsaku‒!"_

It doesn't matter to Conan whether they believe him or not; he is only there to deliver the message, and then‒ _"Kuroba. Kuroba Tōichi."_

His mother covers her mouth, her eyes wide in disbelief; even his father looks slightly taken aback.

Conan doesn't care; he delivers the rest of the message and then goes back to bed.

After this particular event, it had become increasingly obvious that Conan attracts things, just like his older brother. However, while Shinichi is apparently something of a corpse magnet, Conan apparently attracts the disembodied souls instead. It hardly matters that he doesn't believe in them, because a significant chunk of them apparently believe in him. Shinichi doesn't get it though; Shinichi doesn't get a whole lot of things.

"Isn't it cheating though?"

 _Cheating?_ "This isn't a game!" Conan would have said that people's lives were at stake, but he didn't, because they usually weren't; people were usually dead already and the only thing at stake was Conan's peace of mind and theirs.

Of course it wasn't a bloody game. Even at such a young age, Conan had had quite enough of the arrogance, be it from the murder suspects or from his own brother. Admittedly, Shinichi had toned things down just a tad after that, at least in Conan's presence. Then again, Conan was seldom around for his brother's investigations, and‒ It doesn't matter.

Back in the present, Conan puts his glasses on, mentally preparing himself. "So?"

.-.-.-.

Unlike Shinichi, Conan wears glasses. The frames were originally their father's, but the lenses are new; Conan doesn't need a prescription. Mother often giggles about Conan wanting to emulate his father. Father meanwhile just smiles good-naturedly, as if already aware of the real reason.

Though no one else in the family sees the same scenery as Conan, Yūsaku is probably the one who understands him the best. As such, Conan takes no offence to his mother's ideas about the glasses. Frankly, Conan is decidedly more embarrassed about his mother than about his father. Occasionally, Conan is also embarrassed about his brother, as well as embarrassed for him. Right now however, he isn't embarrassed or annoyed as much as he is _worried_.

"What happened?"

Conan isn't used to asking people questions, not living ones at any rate.

The professor seems nervous, fidgety; Conan can definitely relate, in spite of his own outward calm. Pinching the ridge of his nose, Conan finally comes to a decision.

"We'll go to Tropical Land and investigate. If we don't find anything, then we're checking the nearest hospitals next."

Conan doesn't bring up checking the local morgues, for obvious reasons. Granted, the lack of a ghost indicates that Shinichi is still alive, but that doesn't really prove anything; people often became disoriented when they died, and sometimes they got stuck wherever they had died. Other times, they latched onto someone, usually a loved one, and followed them around. If the search ultimately came up empty, then Conan would obviously have to consider the latter. Thankfully, Conan is quite aware of who Shinichi is likely to latch onto, so‒

His stomach rumbles, breaking his concentration. It's also embarrassing, but Conan hasn't eaten anything for quite a while. But he isn't exactly hungry either, physical symptoms aside. Even so, he forces himself to eat two sandwiches, aware that he likely has a long and exhausting day ahead of him.

.-.-.-.

All things considered, Conan could probably have managed without the professor. However, fact remains that Professor Agasa has a car and that Conan doesn't know Beika or the surrounding districts very well. This isn't Conan's first time in Japan, technically speaking, but he honestly doesn't remember much from his last time in the area. Even so, he knows how to read and write _katakana_ , _hiragana_ , and a few basic _kanji_ signs, so he could probably manage to find his way around, so long as he had a map at hand. Still‒

Sneaking a glance at his impromptu chauffeur, Conan cannot help but wonder if Professor Agasa knows about Conan's abilities; if Shinichi had told him. If he had, then Conan wouldn't have to sneak around as much, and Conan could certainly use an adult like that in his life, a _living_ one; his mother has never really been comfortable with that side of him and his father always gets that analytical look whenever Conan brings something up.

Professor Agasa's interest doesn't lie in the human mind but in technology after all, and Conan finds that he can appreciate that, regardless of the man's other flaws. Heck when it comes to flaws, Conan himself is hardly in any position to point fingers at anyone.

As he steps out of the car in the parking lot close to Tropical Land, Conan slams the door shut and then reaches up to adjust his glasses. There is someone there; several of them, as a matter of fact. For now though, he can just barely pick up on their presences. "Professor?"

Professor Agasa claims it is just his back acting up; Conan can tell that he is lying, but knows better than to point it out.

"Someone was recently killed here, murdered," Conan says instead, finding his eyes drawn towards the rollercoaster.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the professor startle. "H-How so?"

Conan releases a breath he hadn't known himself to be holding. _That's a no then_ , he thinks. "They mentioned it on the radio."

They actually hadn't, but going by how Professor Agasa visibly relaxes, it hardly matters.

On one hand, Conan is glad that Shinichi hasn't let Conan's secret slip. On the other however‒ Things would have been so much easier if he had.

.-.-.-.


	3. Chapter 3

_So, we apparently decided on this direction. Oh well.  
_

.-.-.-.

Truth to be told, Conan can do more than just communicate with the dead.

He is sensitive, plain and simple.

Sensitive is hardly the same as fragile though, contrary to popular belief. Of course, calling it popular belief might be just a bit misleading, given that most people know very little about his alleged condition.

As a matter of fact, most people don't even know about his existence; Conan isn't sure _how_ , but he _is_ sure that his father has a lot to do with it and is grateful for his relative anonymity. Fame means scrutiny after all, and Conan already has enough eyes on him as it is.

Of course, some things are harder to cover up than others; pregnancy is still cited as a plausible theory for Kudō Yukiko's hiatus before and following the time of Conan's birth. His parents had neither confirmed nor denied the allegation, which had left the public to wonder. Those in the know are not much wiser; they think they know, and Conan is relatively fine with that. Relatively.

Mind you, even though Conan's life had never been quite normal, he had gone to kindergarten at one point. Granted, it hadn't lasted very long, because Conan wasn't allowed to be normal.

Having famous parents was one thing, and having psychic abilities was another; one had proven decidedly easier to accept than the other.

Besides, children and adults alike could be very cruel, whether aware of it or not.

Frankly, Conan is still unsure which irritates him the most; being called a liar or being expected to bend spoons or some shit like that.

It was roughly around then that Conan had realised that reading was generally more rewarding than playing. He had also realised that he didn't need to subject himself to all that; he had taken an IQ-test and scored surprisingly high.

"As expected from my son."

"Looks like he's taking after you and Shin- _chan_ in more than just looks after all."

His parents are proud of him, but they are also wrong, at least in part. Conan might have a similar aptitude for these things, but he will never be like them; not like Shinichi at any rate.

.-.-.-.

It doesn't take Conan very long to find the spot.

It is fairly secluded and would not have drawn much attention to itself, had it not been for the police tape.

There is a man there, a dead man; he's wailing about money and men dressed in black. Conan doesn't address him though, because there are others present at the scene, _living people_ , apparently in the middle of processing it.

There is no sign of Shinichi, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything.

Conan obviously needs to get closer, but‒

He turns on his heel and stalks off, leaving the professor to follow. There are other ways after all.

As things are, the good professor is perfectly willing to ask Conan's questions for him when they find a member of the staff. He asks about the police tape in a roundabout way, before launching into the question that really matters: "We're looking for his older brother," he says, motioning to Conan. "He never arrived home last night."

The man looks to Conan. His eyes widen slightly. Conan stares right back, holding his gaze steady even while clutching the professor's sleeve. The man has likely been sworn to secrecy, at least to some degree, but‒ "I'm not supposed to say anything, but‒"

.-.-.-.

Haido Central Hospital.

It's new and unfamiliar territory, but Conan hasn't come all this way to stop now. It doesn't matter that he has to navigate the corridors while dodging spectres, brushing past hands reaching for him. It doesn't matter that there's a lot of people moving about. None of it matters. He scans the number plates, uncaring of the fact that the professor is struggling to keep up with him.

Conan doesn't stop until he has arrived at his destination, until he has reached room 221. Once there however, outside the door, it finally occurs to him.

221\. Like in 221B, Baker Street.

It would seem as though Fate had a sense of irony.

Conan doesn't wait any longer for the professor or the doctor, disregarding the shouts for him to wait.

The Holmes of the Heisei era, the Saviour of the Japanese Police Force, high-school detective Kudō Shinichi looks immensely fragile and young as he lies there, quiet and pale but alive, if the monitors can be trusted.

Deep down, Conan had always known ‒ he had always _feared_ ‒ that a time would come when Shinichi's cockiness would prove his undoing. However, it is safe to say that Conan hadn't been expecting _this_.

.-.-.-.

Conan takes a step forward. Then another.

He stands at his brother's bedside.

After a brief moment of hesitation, he reaches out to grasp a pale hand, lifting it from the stiff hospital sheets.

It doesn't take long, and it doesn't last long. Conan pulls away before he delves too deeply into it; it is something that is best done with an audience after all.

Idly, he listens to the doctor's explanations. There are questions as well, but most of them are directed towards the Professor, not him. The Professor is understandably nervous; Conan fears the man might slip up and say something potentially damning any moment now.

They obviously need a cover story, and a good, solid one at that. And papers. They need papers.

"I'm calling Dad."

.-.-.-.


	4. Chapter 4

_Elementary, my dear Watson._

.-.-.-.

Headache. Antiseptics. Heart monitor.

Air conditioning. Distant voices. Footsteps. Breathing. Pages being turned?

Shinichi knows he is in a hospital room even before he forces his eyes open. Predictably, the light stings in his eyes. "Ugh."

"If you hadn't woken up today, then they would've put down a feeding tube. Consider yourself lucky."

It takes a moment for the voice to register. He tries to move, only to discover that it's a pretty bad idea, given the needle in his arm. _"Conan?"_

The book slams shut. "Elementary, my dear Watson."

Shinichi honestly cannot hold back a grimace. He turns his head; his neck feels very stiff. "Holmes never said that."

"I know." Conan puts his book aside and slides out of his chair. Then he steps closer, displaying his hands, fingers splayed wide. "How many?" he asks.

Shinichi honestly feels like he should be the one asking questions, but‒ "Ten."

"Exactly," Conan deadpans, watching him very closely. "Now what's seventeen minus ten?"

Shinichi doesn't need to think, not much at any rate. "Seven."

"That's right," Conan says, closing the distance. He touches the arm that doesn't seem attached to any medical equipment, and Shinichi is too startled to do much at all. However, he is no less startled when Conan takes him by the hand and lifts it, bringing it into view.

Shinichi wiggles his fingers and sees them move. His hand; it's so small. Then, in a flash, it all comes rushing back to him; the men in black, the exchange, the blow to the head, the voices, the poison, the unbearable heat, the _agony_ ‒

He is panicking; his breaths are much too harsh, much too irregular, but‒

"C-Conan," he manages at last, and the hand holding his squeezes back. "Answer me… honestly, okay? Am I… dead?"

Conan just stares at him for a moment, deadpan, before pulling his hand away. "No, but they seem to think you are. If they didn't, then they would've shown up to kill us by now."

Mom would have been horrified by the words that had just exited Conan's mouth. Dad would, at best, have been slightly bemused. No one would be really surprised though, save for possibly Mom, at Conan's bluntness. After all, even though Conan typically went snappish at any insinuation that solving murders was like a game, he remained fairly chill about many other things. Like murders, provided they hadn't actually happened. But, wait− "Why _us_? I was the one who‒"

Conan doesn't answer immediately. "The Organisation doesn't like leaving loose ends."

"The Organisation?"

Something cold and undeniably sharp enters Conan's gaze. "I won't tell you," he says. "Because you'd just rush after them like an idiot…"

Really. "You really think I'd rush after them like this?"

"Yes." No hesitation.

"Wearing a hospital gown?"

Conan shrugs mildly at that. "I guess you'd probably put on some pants first."

Hah!

Despite everything, Shinichi finds himself experiencing a sudden urge to laugh. It is decidedly short-lived however, because then it occurs to him. "Ran! Ran's okay, right? Nothing's happened to her, right?"

Conan's eyebrows furrow slightly. "You mean besides being ditched by her mystery geek of a boyfriend?"

It only then occurs to Shinichi that he had asked about Ran first, not Mom or Dad or‒ "Where's Professor Agasa?"

"He's dealing with some paperwork," Conan readily offers up, dropping back into the chair. "I mean, Dad's already fixed most of it, but‒"

Conan trails off, his expression souring.

Shinichi waits, but when there is no continuation, he finally asks: "But what?"

Conan scoffs openly at that. "You'll find out."

.-.-.-.

And Shinichi would find out, eventually.

Before that however‒

"Good afternoon, Shindō- _kun_. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine." Well, to be frank, he could have been better. A lot better. A lot bigger too. For now however, he is not himself, not Kudō Shinichi. Instead, he is Edogawa Arthur Shindō. The older twin, by about seven minutes, according to the paperwork provided by Dad's acquaintance.

Should he laugh or should he cry? Shinichi honestly cannot tell.

To think that the time would come when he would be interviewed by some unfamiliar police officer on the details of the events that had landed him in such a state, and by one who thinks he is actually seven years old at most.

And to think that he would live to see the day that Conan effectively bullies said officer into buying juice from the vending machine down the hall. Frankly, it is a somewhat surreal experience, considering how Conan typically behaves around strangers.

"Geez, you're even worse at being a child than I am."

Conan snaps his head around, eyes narrowing behind the oversized glasses. "I don't want to hear that from you. I know what you were like at my age; there are tapes."

Tapes. "Mom?"

"Mom," Conan confirms, checking to make sure that no one is eavesdropping.

Still‒ "I'm surprised they let you come here alone. You're actually a grade-schooler, I mean."

Conan huffs slightly at that, sliding the door closed. "Maybe they didn't trust you enough to live on your own."

Yeah, right. "I have Professor Agasa though."

"And now you have me."

Yeah, but‒ "You should go back to America. This might get dangerous."

Conan scoffs openly at that. "Of course, it'll be dangerous; you're involved. I can barely even leave the house with you without stumbling upon a dead body."

Mean, yes, but no less true. Still‒ "This isn't like anything I've ever‒"

Conan gets that look in his eyes again. "Gin."

Shinichi instantly freezes.

"Vodka," Conan continues, speaking as if he is tasting the words for the first time. "The Organisation."

He doesn't need to say any more, not really, because he has made his point. Well, more or less.

.-.-.-.

Getting home is an experience in itself. The world feels bigger now, but it's just because he has become much smaller. He has become much smaller, and needs new clothes. And so, Conan returns with the kind of ensemble that reminds Shinichi all too much about his childhood.

"Out of a whole box, why these? And why can't you just let me borrow some of your clothes? You're not using them all at once and we're pretty much the same size now anyway."

Conan doesn't even acknowledge him, that little shit.

"Seriously though, where did you even find these? I thought I had buried them deeply enough." Heck, he would have _burned_ them if he had thought he could have gotten away with it. "I'd look like a dork in them."

"Endure it. Or go naked. You're old enough to make your own decisions, even if you're not old enough to be arrested for public indecency."

Sometimes Shinichi wonders from where Conan gets certain words, if they come from books or if someone actively teaches him. Other times, like now, Shinichi finds that he would rather not know.

.-.-.-.


	5. Chapter 5

_Conan is a vengeful little shit._

.-.-.-.

The world feels bigger now. It takes some time getting used to it all, to the struggle of being small, of trying to reach mundane things such as shelves or doorknobs. It takes time getting used to the clothes and buying new clothes too, because Conan, that little shit, isn't sharing. Speaking of whom−

"You need to do something about that."

That being Shinichi's face, somewhat chubby cheeks and all. Or his hair. Or both.

"Dad said he's got an extra pair of glasses somewhere around here. Help me look."

Yeah. Shinichi would have been perfectly willing to do that, had Conan not just dropped a figurative bomb on him. "Hold on a sec! Aren't we gonna talk about that thing last night?"

Conan, rummaging through a couple of drawers, shoots him this brief and utterly exasperated look before answering. "No."

The tone leaves no real room for argument, but Shinichi is nothing if not stubborn. Still, he takes care to lower his voice before continuing, just in case. "Is the house under surveillance?"

Conan gives him this look again, eyes narrowing slightly. Then he pushes the drawer shut with a bit more force than necessary. "They came and they went. They're puzzled about the whereabouts of your corpse, but no one is watching, for now."

Really. "My _corpse_. Did you have to put it like that?"

Conan shrugs mildly at that. "You must've been pretty close to death, because I definitely heard your voice."

"My voice?" Shinichi echoes before opting not to pursue the matter any further. Instead, he picks another drawer and starts rummaging through it. About five seconds later, Conan hands him a pair of glasses.

Shinichi tries them and immediately regrets it. "I can't wear these."

Conan positively rolls his eyes at him. "So, poke out the lenses. It doesn't take a genius."

True. Shinichi absentmindedly wonders if his IQ might have dropped alongside his height. "I could ask the Professor to modify these," he finally muses aloud, mostly to himself, and yes, he would definitely ask, but before that− He pokes out the lenses and puts the glasses back on.

 _Ding-dong. Ding-dong. Ding-dong._

Who the heck−?

 _Ding-dong. Ding-dong. Ding-dong. Ding-dong._

" _Shinichi!_ I know you're in there! Don't make me come in there and get you!"

Oh boy.

Shinichi looks to Conan. A somewhat wide-eyed Conan stares back. The door is locked, true, because Conan had insisted. However, as things are, Ran has−

The key turns in the lock; Ran's spare key.

Conan, still wide-eyed, looks around. Then, in the blink of an eye, he dives underneath the writing desk and pushes himself so firmly against it, trying to become as small and invisible as possible. Shinichi just stares at him, a bit wide-eyed himself now, because while Conan has had violent reactions to people in the past, this one really makes no sense. Then again, Ran could definitely be scary at times, and− And she is in the doorway and she has spotted him and she is advancing and she is− "So cute!" −hugging him very tightly to her chest.

On second thought, Conan would have most definitely freaked out if directly subjected to such treatment, having never really been much into the whole physical affection part. Still, Shinichi knows for a fact that he had never gotten around to introducing the two and−

"Wait, Ran- _kun_!" Professor Agasa appears in the doorway, out of breath. He had probably seen Ran entering the house and come running after her. "Shinichi isn't home!"

"Then, where is he?!" Ran snaps back, back to annoyed. "Oh, don't tell me; it's another case, isn't it?!"

Yeah, Shinichi definitely wishes that was the case. Still, that is not to say that he completely hates his current position. Still, awkward. Also, as pleasant as it might sound to be smothered by someone's breasts− _"Can't breathe…"_

"Oh!" Ran immediately loosens her arms around him; she doesn't let go completely though. "I'm sorry! Did I hurt you?"

No, and if Shinichi gets a nosebleed, then it would be for other reasons entirely. "I'm fine, just a bit surprised. You're very pretty." That last part just kind of slips out of him, and given how she giggles, it seems to have been a good call.

"What's your name?" she asks next, and Shinichi wonders how she would react if he told her the truth. He obviously wouldn't, but still.

"Edogawa Arthur, detective."

From his new, less smothering position, Shinichi can clearly see Conan facepalming underneath the desk. Ran seems to find it rather endearing though. "Detective, you say? That's just like my dad! And Shinichi, I suppose. Would you happen to know where he is?"

Shinichi smiles, even if it pains him. One, because being compared to Ran's lumbering fool of a father is physically painful. Two, because Shinichi is right in front of her and she has no idea. It is probably better that way though, all things considered. The less she knows the better and all that. Still− "I dunno, but he told us he'd be back later."

From under the desk, Conan mouths something at him. It looks suspiciously much like _If-You-Give-Aw-ay-My-Po-si-ti-on-You-Will-Re-gret-It_. Too bad Shinichi doesn't negotiate with brats. However, before Shinichi can do more than open his mouth, Conan darts out from underneath the writing desk and swerves past them, giving Ran an awful start, and within moments, Conan has found new shelter, halfway hidden behind the Professor's wide frame. Ran peers curiously at him but makes no attempt to approach. Conan stares right back, clutching at Professor Agasa's white robe. He doesn't speak, so the Professor does it for him.

"Ah, Ran- _kun_ , this is Conan. Shin− _Arthur_ 's younger brother."

Ran looks back and forth, still processing the fact. Then she smiles warmly. "Hello, Conan- _kun_. I'm Mōri Ran. I'm sorry if I scared you."

For a moment Conan just looks at her. Then, slowly, he lets go of Professor Agasa's robe and steps out from behind him. "You're only scary when you're angry," he says at last, head tilting slightly to one side. "Is it really true that you once put a hole in a concrete wall with just your fist?"

Hey, hey− "I do karate. And yes." Her smile is friendly if a bit uncertain now.

"That's cool," Conan eventually decides, and Ran's smile brightens. "Way cooler than _soccer_."

Shinichi feels offended, and that is no doubt the point. Ran doesn't really seem to notice though and carefully makes her way over to Conan, still smiling warmly. "Would you like me to teach you? I can't guarantee that you'll ever be able to punch holes through walls though."

Conan just shakes his head though. "I have a weak constitution," he says, and Shinichi doesn't need to see Ran's face to know her exact expression. "I tend to get sick whenever I overexert myself."

Shinichi doesn't need to look at her face to know what she is thinking. _Oh, you poor thing_. Conan is clearly playing up the pity card, which means that he is probably running out of other options.

The Professor clears his throat. "Their parents tasked me to look after them for now, well, me and Shinichi- _kun_ to be exact, but as things are now…" He trails off briefly and then lights up, as if receiving an epiphany. "Oh, that's right!" He motions for Shinichi to come and he does, wondering what the man could possibly be planning. "If it's not too much to ask of you, Ran- _kun_ , could you perhaps look after young Shin- _Arthur_ in the meantime? I will of course help to settle things with schooling and payment and−"

.-.-.-.

−And such, the following situation had come about.

" _Ah-suru_ - _kun_ , how old are you?"

Walking side by side with Ran, holding hands. The only problem was the ten years he had lost in-between. Well, actually, that isn't the only problem but rather one among many. Still− "Call me Shindō. It's my middle name. And I'm seven." −teen, _mentally_.

"Shindō- _kun_ , huh? Say, if you don't mind me asking, who decided on the names?"

 _I did_ , he thinks, while saying "Shinichi- _niichan_ named Conan. Conan still holds a grudge for that."

The fingers curled around his hand tighten their grip slightly. "Shinichi- _niichan_?"

"Yup." And it feels really weird to talk about himself in third person, but it can't be helped now, can it? "Well, technically, he's my cousin or something. Mom and Dad couldn't decide on names, so they asked him and− well, in the end, it was down to Arthur or Shindō, so I got stuck with both."

Technically, it is not even a lie, because he _is_ struck with it, since Conan is a vengeful little shit and Dad is all too willing to accommodate him.

"I think it's a very nice name," Ran says, smiling down at him as they continue walking. "Arthur Conan Doyle, right?"

Shinichi nods, because it is, and also because he isn't completely certain how to act; he resists the urge to add _Sir_ , even if it is tempting. Conan had really made it sound as though he truly had to sell the child angle, in which case Shinichi would have to monitor his own behaviour in order to avoid arousing suspicion, and also conflict. That said−

"Your parents. Where are they now?"

The question catches him slightly off guard and he looks up at Ran, but she isn't looking at him but rather at the road ahead of them.

"They're in America, for the most part," he admits at last, because half-truths are better than flat-out lies and that _is_ the truth according to the new paperwork and−

"Like Shinichi's parents then. Are they friends with your parents?"

−Shinichi doesn't like this. At all. "I suppose."

Ran stops suddenly, so suddenly that Shinichi nearly stumbles. "Say, Shindō- _kun_ ," she says, crouching down before him, still holding his hand. "Are you sure you don't mind staying with me and Dad for a while? If you're not okay with it, then I'm sure we could−"

Shinichi briefly thinks about Professor Agasa and Conan and then about his parents. The latter would no doubt show up to spirit him away to America at the drop of a hat, and the former, well− "No, no, I'm okay with it. Conan and I aren't really on good terms at the moment. Besides, you're not exactly strangers to me."

That gives her a slight pause and she tilts her head slightly to one side, blinking. "We're not?"

It's dangerous territory, but it's the type of minefield that has to be crossed, because if Shinichi is going to be stuck like this for a while, he might as well make use of his new backstory. "When Shinichi- _niichan_ isn't talking about Sherlock Holmes, he talks about you."

He sounds like a child, excited, and he hates it, at least a little.

Ran looks pleasantly surprised though. "He does?"

He probably had, in the past, considering Conan's reaction. "Yep."

"What does he say?"

Shinichi hesitates, because on one hand, he wants to confess his feelings for her, right then and there, if only in third person. On the other though− "He says you can be a little bit scary when you're angry, but that you're strong and awesome and pretty and all."

She smiles and straightens back up; her amusement is genuine, but not quite as bright as back at the house. "Does he talk about me often?"

He does, but only as often as he and Conan talks, which isn't very often. Coming to think of it, Shinichi has mostly been doing the talking. Sure, he had asked a few questions and all, but with mostly noncommittal answers to work with, it had been kind of− "We don't really get to talk a lot, but yeah, a bit. I want to a lot talk more though, because Shinichi- _niichan_ 's seriously cool. I wanna be just like him when I grow up."

 _I have to find a way to get back my old body_ , he privately thinks as they resume walking. _I'm not going through grade school and middle school again just because I−_

"Why did your parents send you all the way to Japan?"

"Dunno." They had not made up anything specific on that; he can still guess though. "Maybe they wanted us to have a normal upbringing or something."

Heh. _Normal_.

.-.-.-.


End file.
